


In Defense of Sebastian Vael

by Gefionne



Series: Dissonant Verses [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Friendship, The most sweet and innocent thing I've ever written for the kink meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gefionne/pseuds/Gefionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke’s friends are not always kind to each other, especially not to Sebastian. She, however, is very fond of him and takes it upon herself to stand up for him when he is attacked.</p><p>A fill for the Dragon Age Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Defense of Sebastian Vael

_You have walked beside me_  
_Down the paths were a thousand arrows sought my flesh_  
_You have stood with me when all others  
_ _Have forsaken me_

 The Canticle of Trials 1:5

 

 **I  
** **The Wounded Coast**

 

Despite the damp of the night, the fire was crackling merrily as Hawke sank down onto her haunches beside it. Removing her gauntlets, she held out her hands to warm them.

“Thank you for this,” she said to Anders, who was sitting at the foot of a sandy hillock dusted with long grass. He had a pile of wet driftwood beside him that no one less than a mage could have set alight after so many days of cold rain.

The turn of bad weather marked the beginning of autumn, a change that Hawke had grown accustomed to in the time she had lived in Kirkwall. But Anders complained of it year after year. For a man who had once been a Grey Warden, he was quite particular about staying dry and comfortable. Hawke would have teased him about it had she not been so grateful for the heat of the flames.

“If we’re going to be out here until morning,” Anders said as he pulled the collar of his robes tighter around his neck, “it was the least I could do.”

“Believe me,” said Hawke, “I’d rather be home in my bed, but unless you plan on braving the cliffs without the light of the moon…”

“I know, I know,” he said. “We’d walk headlong into the sea. We’ll head back to Kirkwall at first light.”

Hawke smiled wanly. Despite his complaints, she was glad he had been willing to come along on this particular job, which had involved fighting off a pack of qunari deserters that had been holed up in a cave some ways up the beach. A mage in close quarters was a force to be reckoned with, and any of the qunari that had escaped his fireballs or her blade had been picked off by Sebastian’s arrows.

She had been surprised by Sebastian Vael. When he first joined them, she hadn’t expected much of him despite his telling her that he had trained under the finest marksmen in Starkhaven. Varric and Anders had been with her that day, and both of them had had to stifle their laughter when they saw Sebastian in his fine, white armor.

“Are you sure he’s going to fight?” Varric had said to Hawke. “He might muddy his pretty boots.”

She had shrugged then, saying only, “I want to see what he can do.”

They had been prowling the streets of Lowtown that night, looking for bandits. Hawke wasn’t about to take an untried brother of the Chantry on a real job. She wanted to test him first. And had he ever proven himself. He was the first to see the bandits. Before Hawke could even draw her sword, he had put an arrow through one of them. Gurgling, the man stumbled and fell. His fellows charged forward, their battered swords glinting in the moonlight. Hawke moved to cut one down, but a shaft pierced his neck before she could reach him. Glancing back, she saw Sebastian drawing his bow for another shot. The armor he wore, no matter how conspicuous it was, made little noise as he moved. He was all but the opposite of Varric, whose boot heels clomped heavily on the dusty street while he laughed and challenged the bandits to come for him. Sebastian said nothing at all.

When the fighting was done, Hawke was certain he had put down more of the bandits than she had. Striding over to him, she had held out her hand. He had eyed her for a moment and then shook it.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” she had asked.

“My grandfather taught me,” he replied. “I was his keenest pupil.”

Hawke glanced out toward the rocky shore, wondering how much longer he would be. He had gone up the path inland to try to hunt something for them to eat. They hadn’t expected the fight with the qunari to take as long as it had and had not packed provisions. It wouldn’t kill them to go without one meal, but the thought of meat set her stomach to rumbling.

“Hungry, are you?” said Anders, cocking a brow.

“Said as if you weren’t as well,” she grumbled. “As little as you eat when you’re in the clinic or working on that damnable manuscript, I’ve seen you put away twice as much as anyone else at the table. And there’s nothing like a day of hard fighting to give you an appetite.”

From behind her she heard: “It’s good we have something for dinner, then.”

Turning, she saw Sebastian appear from the dusky half-light beyond the fire. He carried two limp rabbits in his left hand and his bow in his right.

Hawke grinned up at him. “Well done. Did you have to go far to find them?”

“Not particularly, no,” he said. Kneeling at the fireside, he drew the small knife from his belt and set to skinning the rabbits. He did it deftly, cutting them only as much as was required to clean the hide away, exposing the gamey meat beneath. Using a length of driftwood as a spit, he set the rabbits over the fire to cook.

“Teach you how to do that in the Chantry, did they?” said Anders. “And here I thought it was all incense and doctrine.”

“They did not,” said Sebastian, wiping his knife clean with a scrap of cloth. “I learned to hunt as a boy in Starkhaven.” He tossed the bloody cloth into the fire.

“You had time for that between all the women and drink? I’ve heard what kind of man you used to be.”

“Anders,” Hawke said, frowning.

“It’s all right,” said Sebastian. “He’s not wrong. But to answer the question: I made the time. I took all of two things seriously when I was a boy: archery and hunting. No matter what other pursuits I indulged in, I always practiced.”

“Yet you can do neither in your Chantry,” said Anders. “And are you not forbidden to take up arms?”

“If the faithful could not stand up to defend themselves,” said Sebastian, “how would Andraste have raised an army to defeat Tevinter? We can fight, if the cause is just.”

“Killing qunari is just?”

“If it helps someone, it can be,” Sebastian replied.

“Then why when mages stand up against their Templar jailors do you not consider that just?”

“If there are Templars who have treated their charges poorly, they should be punished by the Chantry,” Sebastian said. “But not all Templars are wicked, as you seem to believe they are.”

“Maybe not, but they still keep mages as prisoners within the Circle. It is the greatest injustice in Thedas and you just stand by and let it happen because your precious Chantry says that’s how it should be. You’re a hypocrite, preaching righteousness while you cling to the teachings of an oppressive cult. If you actually thought for yourself, you might see that.”

“That’s enough, Anders,” Hawke snapped. “You can make your arguments as you will, but I won’t stand by and let you insult him. You’ll keep a civil tongue when we’re working together. Do you understand me?”

He glared, but said, “As you wish, Hawke.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he fell into a sullen silence.

Sebastian remained quiet as well, though he occasionally reached out to turn the spit so that the meat cooked thoroughly. Hawke sat down cross-legged and took charge of adding fuel to the fire as it was needed. The sizzling as the water boiled off the wet driftwood was the only sound for the better part of an hour.

When Anders rose and wandered a few paces away to relieve himself, Sebastian turned to her and quietly said, “Thank you...for before. I admit, I grow weary of his badgering.”

“In three years, all he’s ever done is antagonize you,” said Hawke. “I know I shouldn’t have the two of you along together as often as I do, but you’re both indispensable in a fight. And you’re my friends. I wish…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“You wish that we got along better, perhaps?” he asked, smiling one-sidedly. “So do I, but I’m afraid Anders and I will never see eye-to-eye.”

“That may be, but that doesn’t give him the right to impugn your character. You would never do such a thing to him.”

“Not aloud anyway,” he said.

Hawke elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “You don’t think he’s _that_ bad a person. You see the best in everyone.”

“I try to,” he said, “but I’m not as good at it as you. You know our faults, but you don’t let them stand in the way.”

“Isn’t that what friendship is?” she asked. “Seeing someone’s strengths and their weaknesses and standing by them in the face of both?”

Sebastian blinked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose it is. That was well said, Hawke.”

She smiled. “I’ve been known to be well-spoken from time to time, though I’m certain Anders has more eloquence in the roughest version of his manifesto than I do in my entire being.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever actually read it. Is it as vitriolic as he is when he speaks to me?”

“More so,” said Hawke, “if you can imagine that.”

Sebastian frowned. “I can…easily. I think it’s for the best that I haven’t seen the drafts he’s given you.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, poking at the fire with a piece of driftwood. Glancing back up at Sebastian, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for being as diplomatic as you can with him. I know he makes you angry; I’ve seen it. But you’ve never been rude to him…not aloud anyway.”

“He’s a friend to you, Hawke, and even if I don’t like him, I respect you. It would be discourteous of me to speak ill of him in your presence.”

She squeezed his shoulder before releasing him. “All the more reason not to allow him, or anyone else, to do the same to you.”

He nodded.

“Now,” she said, rubbing her hands together, “is that meat done yet?”

“I believe it is,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Anders, stepping back into the firelight. “I’m starving.”

 

**II  
Lowtown**

 

Lowtown had little to recommend it during the day and considerably less after dark. Hawke would much rather have been sleeping than walking the streets under the light of a half moon, but Aveline had asked her for the favor.

The city guard was stretched too thin after the qunari incursion, and had she, as guard captain, not said something to Hawke, she would have had to patrol the route alone. She was more than capable with a blade and there was no one tougher, but had she been set upon by more than a few bandits, she never would have stood a chance. So, she had asked Hawke to back her up. Hawke, of course, had accepted, though on one condition: that they make it a three-man patrol. She wanted someone quick and quiet along, so she went to the Chantry and found Sebastian.

They had set out just after sunset and had made the rounds of the market district before venturing further into the back alleys and side streets where criminals could hide, waiting to ambush anyone who passed by. Most of them were cutpurses and thieves who simply held people up for their money or whatever other valuables they had on their person, but sometimes they had been known to kill. It was just such a band that Hawke was on the lookout for.

Hearing a rustling in the shadows, she went to draw her sword. Before she had pulled it halfway out of the scabbard, though, a bedraggled tabby cat in pursuit of a rather sizable rat scrambled across her path before disappearing into the darkness once again.

“A bit jumpy tonight, Hawke?” asked Aveline, who had not even bothered to raise her shield.

She shrugged. “Can’t be too careful, right?”

“I suppose so,” said Aveline. “Though we’ve faced worse things than a few thugs with rusty blades. We’d put them down easily enough.”

“That may be,” Sebastian said, nocking an arrow, “but I’d prefer not to be taken by surprise. Hawke has good reason to be cautious.”

Glancing at him, she smiled. He returned it.

“Tell me, Sebastian,” Aveline said, “is it strange for you to be serving as a lowly city guard?”

“It’s good, honest work,” he said. “Why would I think it strange?”

“You're a prince and this is the work of a commoner. Would you ever have done such a thing if you still lived in Starkhaven?”

“No. It would not have been suitable.”

She shook her head. “Of course it wouldn’t. Nobles are too busy squabbling over titles and petty slights to be concerned about the men and women who keep their city safe. We are all but invisible to them.”

“I would say that wasn’t true,” said Sebastian, “but I’m afraid it often is. I hope, though, if I do retake my father’s throne, that I will not forget them as others do.”

“Why _are_ you still in Kirkwall?” asked Aveline. “For six years, you’ve been claiming that you’ll retake your parents’ lands. You’re clever and resourceful. You’d be a capable ruler. What are you waiting for, divine intervention?”

“I have spent many nights praying to the Maker for guidance in the matter,” he said, “but I’ve received no sign as to which path is the right one.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re just a coward?” she said. “It’s your duty to rule, but you’re hiding in the Chantry. If that’s not cowardice, I’m not certain what is.”

“Aveline,” Hawke said. “That’s more than enough.”

“Is it?” she said. “If what he needs is swift kick in the arse and you’re not going to give it to him, I certainly will.”

“It’s not your decision. You may think he has a duty to Starkhaven, but he also has an obligation to the Chantry.”

“That’s true,” he said. “Though what Aveline says is not necessarily wrong, either.”

“So you admit it, then?” she said, lifting a brow. “You’re out here following Hawke around because it’s easier than going home?”

“If he was in Starkhaven,” said Hawke, “he wouldn’t be out here helping you tonight. You should be grateful, Aveline.”

“I didn’t ask him to come,” she said. “You did. The two of us could have managed perfectly well without—”

“Maybe we could have,” Hawke said, “but we’re far safer with him watching our backs.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” he said.

“I didn’t say it to be kind. It’s true. You’ve saved my life more than once, Sebastian, and Aveline’s too, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.”

Aveline glared over at Hawke, but then sighed. “I suppose your right about that…and about duty. You have a place in the Chantry that you never expected to give up, Sebastian. I’m certain that it’s not easy to forsake, even if becoming prince is your birthright. I apologize for suggesting you’ve remained in Kirkwall out of weakness.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Though I admit that it would be far easier for me to stay than to go to Starkhaven. My brother was raised to rule from boyhood. I had a good education, but it did not include statecraft.”

“I didn’t have any idea how to be the Champion,” said Hawke, “but I’ve managed. I’m sure you would do the same as prince.”

“Perhaps, but what if in my ignorance I led the city poorly? I can’t know that I wouldn’t.”

“No, but you’d do fine. I’m sure of it.”

“If only I believed that as you do, Hawke.”

She clapped him on the back. “Try.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “All right.”

 

**III  
The Elven Alienage**

 

The icy mud crunched beneath Hawke’s boots as she stepped out of Merrill’s little house. Her breath misted in the chilly Wintermarch air. It never properly snowed in Kirkwall, as it had in Lothering, but the frozen rain made the streets treacherous throughout the colder months.

“Are you certain you don't want a pair of proper shoes?” she asked Merrill, glancing down at the thin leather slippers the elf wore.

“No, thank you,” she replied. “These feel strange enough as it is.”

Hawke shook her head. It had taken a case of frostbite to convince Merrill to wear them. She had nearly lost a toe or two, but Anders had thankfully managed to heal them.

Hawke had stopped by with the slippers that morning. They had shared a cup of tea while Merrill showed her the progress she was making with the eluvian. Hawke didn’t pretend to understand the ancient magics that were supposed to make it work, but Merrill enjoyed talking about it, so she had done her utmost to follow along.

“Is Sebastian meeting us here?” Merrill asked.

“He said he would, yes,” Hawke replied. “Fenris is coming as well.”

“He’s not wearing shoes, I’d bet,” the elf said.

Hawke kept herself from rolling her eyes, though barely. “Then we’ll be carrying him to Anders tonight.”

“You won’t,” said Fenris as he strode toward them.

Hawke smiled when she saw him wearing a pair of soft leather boots laced up to his ankles. “They look good on you,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’ll be glad when they’re gone.”

“Are you ready to go, Hawke?” asked Sebastian, who stood beside Fenris. “The sooner we leave here, the better. This place is…dreadful.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Merrill said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you think my people choose to live here? We don’t; we’re forbidden to stay in the city proper.”

“I meant no offense,” said Sebastian. “I have great sympathy for the elves that must keep to this unfortunate place.”

“Of course it seems terrible to you,” she said. “You live in the finest place in this city. Your Chantry is covered in gold and filled with treasure. Half of the people in the alienage could live comfortably inside it. You pity my people, but you do nothing to help them.”

“The sisters do many charitable works around the city,” he said.

Merrill scoffed. “But not here. There are no humans here, and aren’t only humans allowed in the Chantry?”

“Anyone is welcome in the Maker’s house,” said Sebastian.

“You say that, but have you ever seen an elf inside?”

“Fenris has attended my recitations of the Chant before.”

Merrill frowned at Fenris. “You believe those tales about Andraste?”

“You believe stories about gods that are just as fantastic as anything in the Chant of Light,” he said. “How is it different?”

“Our keepers don’t say that they will help everyone and then not do it.” She rounded on Sebastian. “ _You_ do. And it’s a lie.”

 “Merrill,” said Hawke. “The Chantry’s not perfect, but you can’t blame Sebastian for that.”

“Why not? He believes in it without question, defends it against anyone who tries to say anything bad about it. He even tries to get us to love his Maker. All while he ignores my people.”

“Do you expect one man to change everything in a day?” asked Fenris. “If that’s what you want from him, you won’t get it.”

“He can try,” Merrill said.

“I will speak to the sisters about bringing soup and bread here if you wish it,” said Sebastian. “But I cannot make the elves accept it. Would you?”

“Take your stale bread and cold broth?” she asked. “Only if I was starving.”

“There are some here who are,” said Fenris. “They would benefit from Chantry charity. Would that be enough for you, or do you intend to petition the viscount to allow the elves to live outside the alienage? Sebastian can’t solve all your problems for you.”

“They’re your people, too, Fenris,” said Merrill.

“No, they’re not,” he said. “I consider the Fog Warriors more my people that these elves. I have no allegiance to them or their gods.”

“So you prefer the Chantry?”

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose I do.”

“I’ll never understand how,” said Merrill.

“Nor do you need to,” Sebastian said. “It is Fenris’s choice to have faith in the Maker and yours to keep to the gods of Elvhenan. On the matter of the Chantry neglecting the elves, I will do all in my power to remedy it, but I’m afraid you’ll never be content with that, whatever I do.”

“No,” she said. “Likely not.”

“All right,” said Hawke, holding up her hands. “Can we not go a day without bickering? We have a job to do in Lowtown. I won’t have you fighting amongst yourselves when you’re supposed to be fighting _together_. If you can’t managed to get along, we’ll get ourselves killed.”

“I apologize, Hawke,” said Sebastian.

“This wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You didn’t start it.” She raised her brows at Merrill.

The elf sighed. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean for it to go like that. It was…kind, Sebastian, to offer to help the poor here. It’s better than nothing.”

Hawke opened her mouth to speak, but Sebastian caught her eye and shook his head.

“I’m glad, Merrill,” he said.

“Shall we go to Lowtown, then?” asked Hawke.

“Lead the way,” said Fenris.

 

**IV  
The Docks**

 

Dark seawater lapped at the hulls of the ships docked in Kirkwall’s harbor. The webs of rigging that hung from their masts swayed lazily in the breeze. Hawke padded along the docks as quietly as she could, following Isabela toward a warehouse tucked back from the waterfront.

When she had stopped by the Hanged Man earlier that day, she had found Isabela leaning against the bar, sipping a mug of ale. When she spied Hawke, she had grinned…

           

_“Hello, lovely,” she said. “Fancy meeting you here.”_

_Hawke nodded, one side of her mouth lifting. “Isabela. You’re starting early today.”_

_She looked down at the ale and shrugged. “I’m celebrating.”_

_"Celebrating what?” Hawke asked._

_“I have a lead on the artifact I’ve been looking for.”_

_“_ Another _lead?” Hawke said. “If it’s like the last one, we’ll find nothing but broken pots and an old boot.”_

_Isabela waved a hand dismissively. “So, we took one wrong turn. What of it? This information is good, I promise.”_

_Hawke sighed to herself, but agreed to help investigate. Try as she might, it was difficult to refuse Isabela anything._

_We’ll need someone to watch our backs,” she said, crossing her arms over her breastplate._

_"Bring anyone you like,” said Isabela, “as long as it’s not Guard Captain Uptight.”_

_Hawke chuckled. “I wasn’t thinking of Aveline. We need subtly for this. She’s…not that.”_

_Chewing her thumbnail, she considered her other companions: Anders, good as he was with his staff and spellbook, tended to let his mouth run no matter the job; Varric could pick any lock and wielded Bianca with singular skill, but he tread heavily and had a penchant for loudly taunting his enemies; Fenris was quiet and swift, but his broadsword did not lend itself to confined spaces; Merrill would have been a good choice, but she had had a terrible cough for the past few days and kept to her bed. That left only Sebastian._

_Hawke smiled as she thought of him. He should, perhaps, have come to her mind first. He moved silently when it was called for and was as good with the curved blade he wore at his waist as he was with his bow. If they got caught in a corner, he would be able to fight his way out easily. Sebastian it would be, then._

_“When do you want to leave tonight?” Hawke asked. “And where are we going?”_

_“To a warehouse by the docks,” said Isabela. “And we’ll need to wait until full dark.”_

_“All right,” said Hawke. “I’ll head to the Chantry now and meet you here after sunset.”_

_Isabela lifted a brow. “Going to fetch our dear brother of the faith?”_

_“Is that a problem?”_

_“Not at all. I’ve just noticed that he’s been with you quite a bit lately.” A suggestive smile spread across her face. “Have you taken a shine to him?”_

_Hawke rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to bed every man I see.”_

_“You have discerning taste to be sure,” said Isabela, “but you’d have to be blind not to appreciate a man as fine as Sebastian Vael.” She fanned herself and heaved a heavy sigh._

_“He’s a friend,” said Hawke, frowning, “and, I’ll remind you, sworn to chastity.”_

_“That doesn’t have to keep you from looking,” Isabela said, winking._

_Hawke shook her head._

 

She had left the Hanged Man then, turning down a pint before she set off for Hightown. The Chantry was nearly empty when she arrived, save for a few sisters making slow rounds of the nave. Sebastian had told her once that it was a meant to be a time to meditate on the word of the Maker, but it also happened to be a time to ensure that nothing untoward was happening in the shadowed alcoves. More than once, a pair of young lovers had been found in an embrace there. The sisters—and sometimes Sebastian—quickly sent them off, scolding them for desecrating the Maker’s house. Hawke had to hold back a laugh at that.

As she had strode through the vestibule and into the Chantry proper that afternoon, she found Sebastian at the foot of the stairs that led to the altar of Andraste. He was in conversation with a young man dressed in a homespun wool tunic and threadbare breeches. The boy was wringing his hat in his hands. Sebastian set a hand on his shoulder, saying something that Hawke could not hear. It seemed to calm the boy some; he released his arms to his sides and nodded. Sebastian gave him a smile as he stepped back.

“Walk in the Maker’s light,” he said.

“Thank you, messere,” said the boy as he scurried away.

Sebastian watched him for a moment, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. Turning, he said, “Good day to you, Hawke.”

“Hello,” she said, taking a few steps toward him. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Not at all. We were finished. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you might be able to come with me to Lowtown tonight.”

He smiled. “I should have guessed as much. What business do you have there after dark?”

“Isabela needs a favor and I told her we’d back her up,” she said. “If you can join us, of course.”

“I’d be glad to,” he said. “Shall I go get my things now?”

“There’s no hurry. You can meet us at the Hanged Man at dusk.”

“I’ll be there.”

He had been the first to arrive, in fact. When Hawke, armored and carrying her shield, got there, he was standing outside. Not one of the passersby failed to look at him as they made their way into or out of the tavern. What was left of the daylight caught his gilt armor, making it flash brightly. He had told her once that it had been commissioned by his father, the prince of the richest city in the Free Marches. Whether or not it had come all the way from Starkhaven, there was no doubt that it was finer than anything Hawke had ever owned.

Isabela had sauntered out to meet them not long after. She had greeted Sebastian with a sultry smile, leaning close to trace the fletching of one of the arrows in the quiver at his back. He stepped to the side, and her hand fell away. She looked quite crestfallen, but as she turned to Hawke, she gave her a wink.

Hawke was narrowed her eyes and said, “Come on, let’s get this done so I can get some sleep tonight.”

The moon was bright enough to light the way as she crept along behind Isabela. Sebastian was at Hawke’s back, holding his bow with an arrow nocked and ready to fire. The warehouse door was locked, but Isabela made quick work of it. It creaked as it opened, and Hawke grimaced, but it seemed that there was no one else around to hear it. Inside were wooden shipping crates stacked nearly to the ceiling.

“I hope you know which one your artifact is supposed to be in, Isabela,” Sebastian said quietly. “Otherwise we’re going to be here all night.”

“Do you have somewhere better to be, your highness?” she asked. “Would you rather be tucked tight in your bed?”

“I could be.”

She smirked back at him. “Tell me, is that bed always cold or does Andraste warm it for you?”

“The Maker’s light shines down upon the faithful and provides all the warmth we require,” said Sebastian.

“If you say so, but I’ll bet the Maker’s light doesn’t feel as good as a pretty girl’s mouth around your—”

“Isabela!” Hawke barked.

“What?” she said with a half shrug. “It’s true. Isn’t it, Sebastian?”

He shot her a dark look and remained silent.

Isabela put her hands on her hips. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember what it was like. You may not have had a good lay in, what…ten years, but no man really forgets how it feels.”

“I’ve been in the Chantry for fifteen years,” he said. “And if you must know, I do remember. I just choose not to think of it…unlike you. You seem to be unable to think of anything else.”

“Fifteen years,” Isabela said, leaning her cheek into her hand. “How can you stand it? Hawke, would you last that long?”

“I’m not answering that,” said Hawke, though she knew full well that she never could. In matters of the bedchamber, her restraint crumbled to dust after a few months at the most. Sebastian, however, had a will of iron.

Isabela scoffed. “Well, I certainly couldn’t.”

“Little surprise there,” said Sebastian.

“And there shouldn’t be. Despite what your Chantry says about it, there’s no shame in taking lovers.” Drawing her hand down the front of her shirt, she took a few sashaying steps toward him. “If there was a woman standing naked in front of you right now—let’s say it was Hawke—could you really resist?”

“Stop, Isabela,” Hawke said as firmly as she could without raising her voice.

“I will,” Isabela said. “ _After_ he answers my question.”

“No,” said Hawke. “Sebastian, you don’t have to say anything. She has no right to ask you any such thing.”

Isabela sighed. “Spoilsport.”

Hawke rounded on her, glaring. “Enough.”

“Very well,” she said, “but if I were to hazard a guess, if you stripped bare for him, he’d have you on the ground in a heartbeat.”

Hawke’s patience snapped. She stormed up to Isabela and all but pressed her forehead against hers. “If you don’t put a stop to this right now, I will walk out of here and not return. You won’t see me again. Is that clear to you?”

“All right,” Isabela conceded. “I admit, I got carried away.”

Hawke nodded, stepping back. “We’re here to do a job. Let’s get it done.” Turning away, she glanced back at Sebastian. As he met her gaze, she saw the gratitude in his face. She smiled and gestured for him to follow her. She hardly heard his footsteps behind her as they made their way through the warehouse, but she knew he was there.

 

**V  
The Hawke Estate**

 

Hawke ground her teeth as she massaged the sore muscles of her shoulder. The fight that day in the Bone Pit had been one of the hardest she had had in a long time, and her body was protesting vehemently. Varric, who had been with her in the mine, had suggested as they trudged, blood-spattered and aching back toward Kirkwall that they get cleaned up and then wash away the grit in their throats with as many pints of ale as they could stomach.

It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but as Hawke had shed her armor, she thought collapsing into bed sounded much more appealing. However, Fenris and Sebastian were waiting for her in the foyer of her estate, both having come to walk with her to Lowtown.

Resigned, she pulled a brocaded bodice over her shirt and tied the laces. She donned her boots, cast one last doleful look at the bed, and headed for the door. The upper floor of the house was mostly empty now since both her mother and Bethany were gone, but Orana had still lit the candles in the sconces on the walls. They cast small crescents of light, just enough for Hawke to see by as she made her way toward the stairs.

Bodhan and Sandal had retired for the night, so the only voices coming up from the foyer were Fenris’s and Sebastian’s. She paused for a moment at the top of the stairs to hear what they were discussing.

“You were almost killed today,” said Fenris.

“I don’t think it was so dire as that,” Sebastian said, almost dismissive.

“Then you didn’t see it from the right angle. Hawke was backed into a corner by that black dragonling. She had no way out and no room to swing her sword. It was rearing back to strike, but then you were there. From what I saw, you struck it on the head with your bow to draw its attention from her. It nearly caught you with its flames, but she managed to put her blade through it before it could. You saved her life, though nearly at the expense of your own.”

“You would have done the same,” said Sebastian.

“Perhaps I would have, had I been near enough,” Fenris said, “but I’m not certain I would have done it so quickly. It was as though you cared nothing for your own life. You nearly walked into a fireball.”

“I’m not afraid of death,” said Sebastian, “and I’m more than willing to sacrifice my own life to save another’s.”

“Somehow I doubt you would have done that for me,” said Fenris, wry.

“Are you suggesting that I value Hawke’s life above yours?”

“I’m certain you do,” he chuckled. “Would you deny it?”

“All lives are precious to the Maker.”

“That is not an answer,” said Fenris.

Sebastian sighed. “Hawke has been a true friend to me these past three years. I can never repay her for helping me to avenge my family. I consider you a friend, too, Fenris, but she is…” He trailed off.

Hawke leaned over the rail to get a look at him. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, looking at the ground, as he always did when he was embarrassed.

Fenris, smiling, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We all care for her.”

Sebastian looked up, returning the smile. “Yes, of course.”

Clearing her throat, Hawke started down the stairs. “Are you two ready to go?”

“We thought you’d left us in favor of your bed,” said Fenris.

“It was tempting,” she laughed, “but I promised Varric.” She turned to Sebastian, who had left both the robes of the brotherhood and his fine armor behind and had worn breeches and a leather jacket. “And I wouldn’t want to miss one of the rare nights when you decide to join us, Sebastian.”

Though Hawke’s friends spent a fair amount of time in the Hanged Man, he did not often come along. He still had duties in the Chantry, of course, but Hawke knew that the general debauchery of a Lowtown tavern reminded him too much of the past he had left behind in Starkhaven. After what had happened with Isabela a fortnight past, she had been careful to leave the less respectable aspects of her life out of the conversations she had with him.

“I’m glad to come with you tonight,” he said, holding out his arm. “Shall we go?”

“Let’s,” Hawke said, sliding her arm through his.

**VI  
The Hanged Man**

 

“I fold,” said Hawke, tossing her cards into the center of the table.

Varric smirked and tipped the last of the ale in his mug into his mouth. “I win again. You all are making this too easy.”

“How do you do that _every time_?” asked Merrill, who had won the first round of Wicked Grace they had played, but lost each one after.

“He cheats,” said Aveline. “I’d stake my life on it.”

“You wound me, guard captain,” he said, pressing his hands to his breast.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her own ale.

“So, who’s buying the next round?” Varric asked, glancing around the table. “Blondie, I’d bet you have a few coppers stashed in those robes somewhere.”

“Not a one,” Anders grumbled. “You cleaned me out.”

“Rivaini?”

“I bought the last round,” said Isabela.

“Right,” Varric said. “What about you Broody?”

Fenris shook his head. “You took the pot, dwarf. You buy this round.”

“I’ve got it,” said Hawke, pulling a silver from her pocket. “You lot are taking far too long to decide and I’m getting thirstier by the minute.” She gestured to the buxom barmaid who had just dropped a full flagon onto the table beside theirs.

“What can I get for you, love?” she asked.

“Ales all around,” said Hawke, handing her the coin.

“Water for me,” Sebastian said, “if you please.”

“Whatever you want, handsome,” she said, grinning. With a swirl of her fading red skirt, she headed back toward the bar.

“Oh, _come on_ , Choir Boy,” Varric groaned. “You can’t bring yourself to let go of Andraste’s skirts long enough to have one drink? I’ll even pay for it, since I know you give all of your coin to the Darktown beggars.”

“I’d be willing to chip in, too,” said Isabela, sliding a copper between her fingers, “if it meant we got to see you loosen up a bit. What do you think, Varric? What kind of drunk is our brother of the faith? Does he talk too loudly? Get into fights?” She traced her chin with her forefinger. “No, I know…he gets randy and puts his hands on the first girl he sees.”

“I doubt it would be that interesting,” Varric said. “You haven’t got a randy bone in your body, do you, Choir Boy? At least, not since the Chantry beat it out of you.”

“The sisters don’t make a habit of administering beatings,” said Sebastian. “I simply prefer to keep my wits about me. Someone at this table has to.”

“I’ve got wit enough for two,” Varric said. “And I don’t think there’s anyone in Kirkwall who would call you witty, Vael. I’d be the first in the Chantry for morning recitation on the day you made me laugh.”

“Then I shall have to practice,” said Sebastian, “since it would do you some good to hear the Chant more often.”

Varric scoffed. “Sure it would, Choir Boy. Then maybe I can bore everyone as much as you do.”

“All right,” said Hawke, raising her hands. “That’ll do, Varric.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “I don’t know how you can actually spend more than a few minutes listening to him. Every other word is Andraste this, Elthina that. All that sanctimonious crap makes me queasy.”

“I believe that’s the four pints of ale,” said Sebastian.

“That was rather sassy of you,” said Isabela, tracing the edge of his ear with her fingertip. He cocked his head to the side, out of her reach. She gave him a disappointed pout.

“Let him be,” Fenris said, eyeing Isabela.

She reached over to brush a hand across his chest. “Are you going to make me?”

Fenris tried to give her a disapproving look, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Hawke chuckled to herself. The two of them had been slipping off together more and more of late. It made no matter to her; as long as it made them happy, that was all she needed to know.

“So, Choir Boy,” said Varric, leaning in and resting his chin on his folded hands, “if you can’t have a single drink and can’t look at a one of the willing girls, why are you even here?”

“I came to enjoy the good company,” Sebastian said, “but if I’m not welcome—”

“Of course you are,” said Hawke. “ _Right_ , Varric?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I’m always in the mood for a sermon, aren’t you?”

Hawke’s fist hit the table hard. “Void take it! I can’t sit here and listen to this. Sebastian, will you walk with me?”

“Certainly,” he said, getting hastily to his feet.

“Hawke,” said Varric, letting his shoulders fall. “Hawke, come back. I’ll leave off Choir Boy—”

“ _Stop_ calling him that,” she growled. “He has a name. Use it.”

“All right,” Varric said. “I get it. Just come sit down, Hawke.”

She shook her head. “I’ve had enough for tonight. Come on, Sebastian.”

Without a word, he followed her downstairs and out of into the night. The air was crisp with the last bite of winter, but the coolness did little to sooth her temper. She knew that her friends did not always get along, but all of them seemed to find the most fault with Sebastian.

He had his flaws, of course—sometimes Hawke did tire of his unwavering faith—but he did not deserve the disdain Varric and the others seemed to have for him. She wondered if perhaps it had something to do with his nobility, that they believed he thought himself better than them because he had been born to privilege and they had not. He did carry himself with a certain aloofness that was similar to that of the nobles of Kirkwall, but he was never unkind to anyone, rich or poor.

Since they had met, she had grown fond of him, and sometimes went to the Chantry just to talk. They discussed all manner of things, and no matter what Varric said, he had a fine sense of humor and often made her laugh. She could not understand why her other companions disapproved of him so.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Sebastian said, drawing her attention to him.

Hawke ground her teeth, staring at the dusty ground below her boots. “Do what?”

“Say what you did to Varric. He was in his cups. He didn’t know what he meant.”

“Yes, he did,” Hawke said. “He was being deliberately cruel to you.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse barbs thrown at me that the insults Varric wields.”

Hawke spun on her heel to face him. “From one of the others? What was said?”

“I didn’t mean anyone in particular,” he replied. “I…haven’t always been well liked, Hawke.”

 “Why would anyone have cause to dislike you?” she asked. “You’re polite, honest, brave.” She grasped him by the upper arms, her fingers digging into the leather of his jacket. “You’re one of the finest people I know, Sebastian, and I will not stand by and let anyone—especially not my friends—speak to you in that way.”

“Hawke, I…” he said. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said, taking a step back. “I just want you to _believe_ me. You’re a good man, and I’m honored to call you my friend.”

He looked down, taking Hawke’s hands in his. “I don’t know why the Maker saw fit to bring you into my life, but I’ve thanked Him on all the days since. I’ve never had a friend like you, Hawke.”

“I should really be the one thanking you,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “You saved my life today in the Bone Pit.” She smiled up at him a little sheepishly. “I heard you talking to Fenris earlier. He’s right, you know. You didn’t even think twice; you just leapt into harm’s way.”

“And I would do it again without hesitation,” he said. “You are…very dear to me. If things were different—”

“I know,” said Hawke, cutting him off. Standing up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, Sebastian, I’ll walk you to the Chantry before I go home.”

“I’d like that very much,” he said.

She grinned and slipped her arm through his. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Dear OP, I hope you don’t mind that I went with F!Hawke even though you have a slight preference for M!Hawke. Also, sorry about the last bit, which suggests something more than friendship between them. I just ship them so hard that I couldn’t help it. ::sigh:: OTP
> 
> THE PROMPT:
> 
> I'm really bummed by all the hate towards who is probably my favourite character in DA2, both in fandom and in canon. Nobody seems to honestly like him sometimes. Especially your companions mostly range from confused/neutral to hostile.
> 
> So, I'd like to see a Hawke who likes Sebastian a lot. And takes it upon themselves to defend him from the people who hate him. (Fenris can join in if A!A wants him to, but I'll be fine without him as well.)
> 
> Bonuses:  
> \+ Sebastian and Hawke are just friends  
> \+ no one is portrayed as downright evil, just kind of mean and nasty, maybe even unintentionally  
> \+ Sebastian, at some point, gets embarrassed by all of this and tells Hawke that they don't need to try, that he is used to people not liking him (not only among the companions but also in Starkhaven, in the Chantry...)  
> \+ this only spurs Hawke on because goddammit if they're going to let Sebastian believe that it's okay because he's so used to it  
> ++++++++++++++ if people actually take into consideration what Hawke says  
> I have slight preference towards M!Hawke, but any gender goes.


End file.
